


Entertainment

by CheshireCity



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Bickering, Bondage, Clone Sex, Facials, Glasses, Hand Jobs, Illusions, M/M, Magic-Users, Penetration, Restraints, Sex Magic, Tentacles, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, clone Zexion, cuckolding mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCity/pseuds/CheshireCity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demyx can't seem to occupy himself while his boyfriend reviews scholarly articles, but Zexion has just the plan to wear off that nervous energy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolatemoosey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemoosey/gifts).



Zexion wasn’t entirely certain how they had ended up like this: the two most unlikely people to ever pair off had gone ahead and become a couple. Yet here things were, what with him trying to study a medical volume in a high backed chair and Demyx… well, just being Demyx, unfortunately. The young man buzzed about the space, flopping around in his seat and fidgeting with boredom. How the two of them ever became a couple was really anyone’s guess.

It wasn’t as if Zexion ever particularly got on well with anyone. His memories of his time as Ienzo were scattered at best, like trying to remember the events of a dream one has just awoken from. There were simple biographical details he could recall, facts that must have been important enough to him in his past life to carry on into that of a Nobody’s existence.

He knew that Ienzo had lost both of his parents, although he couldn’t quite recall how. This had led to him being taken in by Ansem the Wise, being allowed to live in his castle although not allowed to be able to leave it. He remembered a strange boy with a large weapon protecting him as well as his companion’s fury that he broke orders. It was beyond apparent to him that he disliked and distrusted the man named Even who he believed had been a caretaker or guard of his in the past. 

He recalled that Ienzo was born in December, that he liked the color purple, and that he was generally nervous around strangers. He knew that he had liked Aeleus and that Ansem’s company had been welcomed, especially when he offered him sea salt ice cream, which was, to his memory, somewhat frequent.

But he couldn’t remember the things he deemed important to who he was: what he liked, what he felt about certain issues, what his hobbies and passions were. Once he became Zexion, he felt like a horrible blank slate, wiped clean of any evidence of existing. He did his best to match the new names to vaguely familiar faces, getting reacquainted with the first six of what would become the Organization XIII.

Xemnas took on the immediate role of leader, as if taking up where he had left off. It was increasingly clear that he knew much more than the rest of them and this leverage allowed him to take charge without much interference. Zexion immediately distrusted him and felt a distant sense of betrayal that he couldn’t quite rectify.

Xigbar seemed too much like a loose cannon, feeling equally untrustworthy and susceptible to backstabbing. Zexion did his best to keep his distance from the space user, often ending up as the butt of his jokes despite his efforts.

Xaldin was much more dependable, doing everything a bit too earnestly when it came down to it. He seemed loyal to Xemnas and was otherwise laidback and impassive. He spared as little words for his companions as possible and kept to himself the rest of the time. Zexion could respect his qualities, but his unwavering loyalty made him question his trustworthiness.

Vexen – who he did indeed remember as Even – was an immediate dislike of his, despite the elder man’s fussing and apparent worries about his well-being. He felt these were mainly for show and brushed the man off, feeling unclean in his presence.

Lexaeus was undoubtedly his favorite of all: he was quiet, reliable, and strong. He wasn’t terribly smart but was protective and kind towards others. Unlike the rest of the Organization, he didn’t leap into a fight unless he was given no other choice. Zexion could respect his reservation and indifference.

Then came the neophytes. Saïx then Axel arrived in quick succession. Their backgrounds were mysterious, but left Zexion with the strange feeling that he’d seen them somewhere before. Their appearance as Nobodies suggested some kind of tragedy that they’d suffered in tandem, yet neither seemed to remember what it was and slowly seemed to drift apart.

It was a trend Zexion had noticed, feeling a vague hollowness where his heart allegedly wasn’t. Nobodies were truly an empty sort of being and over time all evidence of past attachments seemed to wither and fade. It was an odd – if statistically significant – finding that ought to have felt more depressing. He supposed he couldn’t empathize, however, having never truly been close to anyone.

That’s when Demyx came to them, wide-eyed and scared and surprisingly emotive. Xemnas spoke down to him harshly, ordering him to stop pretending that he had feelings. This only seemed to upset the sandy blond further, making him shake in his new uniform.

Despite this, he was quick to make introductions, offering a bright smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m the new guy, Demyx, number nine,” he announced on the first day, way too cheerful for any Nobody to sound. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Not interested,” Zexion scoffed, not bothering to look up from his coffee and text.

“Well that’s not very nice,” Demyx pouted with a frown. “I, uh, hope we have a mission scheduled together soon!” he said determinedly.

“Why?” the other drawled, but Demyx had already taken his leave and was off to introduce himself to the other members. “What a tool,” Zexion had assessed: there was no way that any Nobody could be so ludicrous and happy-go-lucky.

They spent the next few months bickering: Demyx trying too hard to be friendly while Zexion recoiled from the invitation. He found the blond annoying, vapid, and creepily sincere. Other course his assessment hardly meant anything when his own character was so abhorrent. He knew from experience – and peer review – that he had a tendency to be sharp tongued, unromantic, and unethically cruel. Why the sitarist persisted with him was beyond his comprehension.

Still, he couldn’t help but be worn down by the constant supplications of friendship. Demyx made a good balance to his seriousness: he tempered his fouler moods and harsh criticisms, reminding him to be fair and open minded. He supposed he did good for the nocturne, too. Since they’d grown close, he’d seen a maturation in the other, a sort of new drive to get through his missions successfully. He toned down his amicability, growing a sense of discrimination when it came to forcing associations.

It was only natural, then, he supposed, that their strange little friendship had blossomed into something more. Still, to the rest of the Organization they were an unexpected couple doing strangely domestic things for one another about the castle. Demyx would get up and make coffee in the mornings, taking advantage of the calm and quiet to strum on his sitar as the drink boiled. Around midday (not that they could tell by the darkness outside, of course) Zexion would rouse himself to the kitchen, prying himself away from his documents and books. He’d prepare a meal for the two of them, using the cooking skills he’d gathered over the years to scrap together something homemade and warm.

He’d also be the one to do most of the cleaning, straightening up their segment of the castle and devising a chore schedule for the two of them. Demyx would balance this by doing all the shopping they needed, from groceries to small household items. He’d be the one to bring back quaint little gifts: beautiful glass lamps from Agrabah, books from Beast’s Castle, and scientific discourse from Halloween Town.

It was on this particular evening that he was studying a document from such world, a theoretical finding about the housing of hearts in artificial bodies penned by a Dr. Finkelstein. The study had caught his eye in particular amid a bundle of writings that Demyx had procured for him: it was coffee stained and secured with orange and black ribbon.

It had first made him ponder what “artificial” could entail: a manmade thing, like a robot? Or maybe even an organic vessel, like himself? It gave him a distant feeling of hope that perhaps he and his compatriots would be able to reclaim their hearts once more. Hope, of course, was not a feeling he allowed himself often, but the arrival of it only increased his curiosity in the topic.

So he’d sat down in his favorite chair – a grey and white recliner with plush backing – and secured his glasses across the bridge of his nose. Nestled into the seat with his legs curled before him, he scanned the report, tapping at the papers with an uncapped pen. In the margins he made his queries and emphasized quotations. The numbers within the write up he parsed over again and again.

His environs were perfect, just the way he liked things when he was at work. Save for one, tiny detail: Demyx.

The blond hovered around the room, lying on the opposing couch with his feet slung over an arm. He swung them gently back and forth, staring at the ceiling and trying to make out shapes in the plaster. When that wasn’t entertaining enough, he flopped over on his side, toying with the long strands of his hair and trying to invent new songs in his head. When he created a tune he was pleased with, he got up, searching about for pen and paper, afraid he’d forget his thoughts entirely.

This was common for him – Demyx was generally scatterbrained and had to denote even simple instructions in writing. The request seemed to get under his superior’s nerves greatly as they insisted that he’d have to learn to remember better. Of course this was easier said than done, and usually just resulted in him getting his mission half done, leading to yet more punishment and admonishment.

Zexion had come to his aid on this front, bequeathing him a slim recorder that had previously been used to document scientific research. Whenever meetings were over, they would play back the little machine and Zexion would transcribe the events of the council. It was in this manner that Demyx received his first written orders and his monthly salary increased accordingly. The influx of cash greatly pleased Zexion – between the two of them, he was entrusted with recording and keeping the money, and he was a big fan of saving and frugality. Given that Demyx was an impulse buyer, this arrangement worked out the best for the both of them.

Supplies in hand, Demyx flung himself back down on the couch. He paused a moment, realizing he had nothing to write on. Defeated, he got back up, pacing about and opening drawers and pawing through bins. Zexion looked up at him over the lip of his papers and kept reading. The blond sighed audibly, not finding what he was looking for and settling for an old magazine, something that had been picked up from another world that detailed foreign plants. Chances were it was something Marluxia had picked up; he always had a habit of strewing his things about the castle.

Again, he sat back down – none too gently – flipping the pen through his fingers and drumming it against his writing surface. Noisily, he scratched out a few lines, arranged shapes along them into the form of music. At intervals he stopped, humming along and transcribing the sound into readable notes.

Zexion fought the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose and shot the other man a begrudging look. “ _Demyx,_ ” he warned, tone low.

The sitarist whimpered in recognition of his peril and piped down. For the moment, at least. Almost at once, he was on his feet again, because this time he had drawn little caricatures across the bottom of his page and had wanted to color them in. When he searched through the art supplies, he was even louder than before, pencils and pots clacking together and creating quite a racket.

Again the schemer looked away from his work, patience growing thin. “Demyx,” he barked. “Sit down.”

“Sorry, Zex!” the other returned with a pout. “I just need to get somethin’ really quick.”

“Then get it and sit down.”

The blond obediently grabbed a few watercolors and sat back down, this time propping himself up before the coffee table and spreading out his artwork. He summoned water and poured it neatly into a little cup, setting it beside a couple brushes and a child’s palette of pigments. Carefully, he began to paint, diluting the colors with the water and fanning them across the page. It was too thin, however, and the wet quickly soaked through the paper.

“Shit,” he swore, getting up quickly. In his haste, he bumped the table and the water cup fell to the side, spilling out onto the pale carpet. “Oh man!” he groaned, watching helplessly as the clouded fluid seeped into the short fibers. It would stain if he didn’t act quickly, and frankly, he didn’t want to create friction with Saïx. 

The blue haired man acted like the second in command around the castle, despite his official rank as seventh. As such, he reported anything and everything to Xemnas and was almost like the Organization’s mother figure. The last thing Demyx wanted to do was to get on his bad side.

“For crying out – _Demyx_ ,” his companion hissed, noting the mess. “Clean that up and sit _down_.”

“I’m getting on it!” the blond insisted, scrabbling about for something to sop up the fluid with. “Besides, I can’t help it if I’m bored.”

“Entertain yourself better.”

“But I want _you_ to entertain me.”

Zexion quirked a brow and thought of the myriad ways he could “entertain” the other. He pursed his lips and went a different approach instead. “Learn to be patient; I have things to do first. I can’t always attend to you, you know.”

“I know,” Demyx sighed, resolving his mess. As his boyfriend returned to his task, he caught a wry smirk. The blond narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He knew that the schemer only adopted such an expression when he was feeling particularly devious. And devious often meant… _‘He’s thinking sexy thoughts, isn’t he?’_

Well that was perfectly fine with Demyx. More than fine, in fact. Given his powers of illusions and his bossy attitude, having sex with Zexion was always a treat. Feeling ornery, the sitarist stretched himself back out over the couch with a pronounced sigh. Watching the other man out of the corner of his eye he began playing with the zipper of his coat, sliding it up and down tunefully.

Zexion’s lips thinned, a brow arching in annoyance.

The blond smiled inwardly, egging him further. With another dramatic sigh, he rolled onto his side. Then onto his back again. Then he threw his legs over the arm of the chair and shuffled his feet back and forth.

Zexion pointedly ignored him, looking like his patience was wearing thin.

Next Demyx tapped a beat on the cushions, creating a dull _whump whump whump_ with every smack of his palm. After a moment he hummed along, repeating the same few notes of the song he’d created.

“That is _it_ ,” the dark haired man snapped, tearing himself away from his readings. “If you’re intent on being so damn obnoxious then clearly I need to tire you out myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Demyx crooned, donning a smile. “What’re you gonna do? Punish me?”

“Something like that,” the other growled, pulling him roughly by the front of his cloak. “Bedroom. Now,” he ordered.

Demyx practically purred at the demand: he loved it when his boyfriend got commanding with him. He always made for a pushy bottom, that was for sure. He drew near to Zexion’s ear, whispering excitedly. “So what’re you planning? A spanking?”

“No,” the other returned curtly, folding his research beneath an arm. “I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly that you won’t have the energy to be annoying anymore.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

The two made their way to the bedroom – Zexion’s, as always. The blond’s room was far too disorganized for his boyfriend’s liking, and he always spent too much time clearing things from the bed to keep up the mood. Locking the door behind them, they set upon one another with fervor.

Drawing his partner in by the waist, Demyx leaned down to kiss the other man. Zexion struggled a moment, wanting to make use of his occupied hands. Shrugging, he summoned an illusion of himself, having it place his readings on the bedside table before circling the blond. Together, they began to strip him, pulling and tugging at his cloak first, freeing him of his dark tank top. Laying kisses along his chest and back, they trailed their fingers along his skin, tweaking at nipples and smoothing over shoulders.

Demyx sighed and keened into their touches, cupping Zexion’s face in a hand, drawing him into a kiss. The clone maneuvered around to wrap his arms about the blond’s neck, stealing the next kiss from him. Messily, the three shared a kiss, all sucking and lathing of tongues. Zexion moaned in abandon, feeling not only his own touches, but that of his clone, as well.

He loved playing like this, feeling double the pleasure from the use of clones, sharing his boyfriend’s lips and hands and cock with them. He loved showing off for Demyx, kissing his copies, rubbing their bodies against one another, panting and moaning and frotting. It drove the blond wild, besides, and he was willing to do anything to please the other.

But first, he would please himself. Drawing his clone close, he pressed their lips together, melting into the warmth of the other’s mouth. Naturally, his clone knew everything he liked, knew how to use his tongue, how to thumb against his hips, how to rock his own lightly forward, creating friction. Zexion gasped into the sensation, only deepening their lewd kisses. His clone dropped them along his jaw and trailed them over his neck. He bit and sucked at the skin there, little flowers of purple creeping up against the pale canvas.

Zexion whimpered in delight, stripping the both of them of their identical cloaks. Their touches grew eager and frantic, hurriedly undressing one another until a heap of dark clothes lay at their bare feet.

Demyx watched with rapt attention, freeing himself of his pants and letting them collect on the floor beside his kicked-off boots. He sat at the edge of the mattress, legs spread and desperate to touch himself. He knew Zexion loved to tease him, force him to hold off for as long as possible. The display was just an extension of that – making him hard but not permitting him release without Zexion’s approval.

The darker haired man increased his own pleasure instead, drawing his hardening dick into the same grip as his clone’s, rubbing the heads together. He hissed in ecstasy, frotting forward and urging forth little beads of precum. Eagerly he pumped them, letting the skin slick and slide together. He wished he could include Demyx, but it would ruin the point of the show. In the past the blond had drawn between them on his knees, fitting both of their cocks into his mouth. The heat had been divine and all the more maddening to see Demyx’s lips plumped and spread between the two of them.

Moaning at the memory, he dropped to his own knees, anchoring himself at his clone’s hips. Fueled with arousal, he bent forward, capturing his twin’s engorged cock in his mouth. Whimpering almost immediately, he felt the velveteen heat of his mouth close around his clone’s body, feeling phantom sensations in his own weighted cock. He sucked the other thoroughly, rushing through the motions and feeling he could cum at any moment.

His clone smirked and panted, looking Demyx in the eyes as he was blown. With a crooked finger he beckoned the waiting blond over, wrapping an arm about the back of the man’s neck and kissing him deeply.

Noting his boyfriend’s proximity, Zexion pulled away from his double, pressing a kiss to the blond’s cockhead. Demyx whimpered into his kiss with the clone, fighting to keep from bucking forward. Zexion laughed under his breath: his boyfriend was always so earnest about his desires. Praisingly, he wet the tip of the other’s cock, stroking it slowly with languorous licks, encapsulating it in his mouth and inching down along the shaft. Resuming his previous attentions, he stroked at his double, stilted in his motions as he tried to evenly divide his attentions.

The clone and Demyx didn’t seem to mind, caught up in their pleasure and in each other. Zexion continued his motions until his boyfriend’s breathing grew labored and panting. With a smirk, he pulled off, willing his duplicate to follow his lead. Instantly, the other man moved away, instead leading Demyx to the bed. The blond followed compliantly, unable to hide his growing anticipation. Climbing onto the mattress, he wiggled to the center and spread himself out across the sheets.

“What do you – you guys – have planned?” he asked in a rush. His cheeks were flushed from kissing and being touched.

_‘Cute,’_ Zexion thought appraisingly. _‘But you’re even sexier when you moan.’_

“Guess you’ll just have to work on that patience of yours,” he said instead, adopting a scolding tone. “

“You gonna teach me?”

“I don’t think I have any other choice,” Zexion pressed, joking along with a serious expression. “I was thinking we’d start by keeping you from moving around so much – you seem to have a problem with fidgeting and moving about.”

“Y-yeah?” Demyx bit his lip, barely able to contain himself. He had a hint of what was coming next.

“Mnhmn,” his boyfriend purred, feeling a familiar tingle. It was always like this whenever he used more energy than usual, converting his thoughts into tangible illusions. Keeping his clone in play, he summoned up six smoky shadows, long prehensile tendrils that snaked their way across Demyx’s body. Two coiled their way up his arms, tickling his flesh and making his nipples harden. They met above his head, looping through the rails of the bedframe and securing his wrists snugly.

Two more trailed down the planes of his stomach and along the smooth columns of his legs. They hooked around his ankles, dragging them slowly apart from one another and leaving him bare and secured to the mattress. He tossed around, testing his bonds. He could move comfortably, but there was certainly no coming free at a moment’s notice. He hardened at the thought, loving being beneath his partner’s lusty whims.

Zexion stretched out leisurely on the bed beside him, raking his eyes over his boyfriend’s frame. It never failed to please him, sun-kissed and taut, muscled like a swimmer. He knew all the places where the man was sensitive: the otherwise ticklish sides of his body, the ever responsive bud of his nipples, the quivering rise of his throat.

He felt bad, sometimes, when he thought of how different they were. Before him, Demyx had only had vanilla interests: making love and holding hands and probably crying through sex. They’d talked about it, but the blond often grew flustered, so Zexion wasn’t entirely certain what his past ideations were like. After they’d begun dating, well, that was another story.

The second he’d opened up about his sexual desires he seemed to have awakened something raw and hungry in the sitarist. Demyx was eager to try anything and everything, even transcending what Zexion would have considered. They found a compromise around the middle, trying out first one kink then another, slaking their appetites in turn.

He quickly discovered that the free spirited Demyx loved being held down, bound up, and made patient and obedient. This suited him quite nicely as, despite his diminutive stature, he quite liked being the boss. Feeling a temporary surge of power and control after a life of being the underling fueled him like no other.

Until they had tried changing up their dynamic. Then Zexion learned – with some embarrassment – that he loved being dominated as much as he was thrilled by dominating. Demyx made a generous and enthusiastic lover, rarely teasing and always seeing to his partner’s needs before his own. It made Zexion flush with self-consciousness just thinking about it – he had done nothing worthy of such selfless love and pleasure. Sometimes, he really just didn’t get the nocturne.

Either way, Zexion maintained the illusion of control: ordering Demyx about as he willed or putting up a playful struggle, letting his natural bossiness show through. His partner reveled in it, always knowing (quite vocally) how to go about pleasing his boyfriend and getting off himself on the orders. Zexion couldn’t fathom it, but then again, he was too reliant on his sense of command to try dropping his walls that far. They all had their baggage, after all.

Looking at Demyx now, spread out and willing to receive whatever was permitted him, made Zexion’s chest squeeze in funny ways. He’d been told over and over again that they didn’t have hearts – he knew that they physically lacked some unquantifiable substance that other beings had – but still, he had to question. For beings that weren’t supposed to feel anything genuine, he couldn’t quite contain the warmth he felt toward the other male.

He wanted to tell Demyx how he made him feel. That he thought about him constantly or that he worried about him when he’d been gone on a mission for too long.

But for all of his vocabulary and tendencies for ranting when passionate, he was completely lousy with his feelings. No matter how many times he tried to screw up the courage, he could never put his emotions into words. It was hard enough expressing his endearments – was it a cosmic joke to even say ‘I love you’? Was he truly capable of such? As a Nobody? As a callous person? He wasn’t really sure, but he knew what he hoped for. So instead he channeled his feelings into actions and let them largely speak for him.

Lovingly, he reached out and fanned his fingers across Demyx’s hip, trailing his fingers along the rise of his pelvic bone. Rubbing against the flesh he imitated his motions until goosebumps prickled forth and the blond was canting his hips forward. Brought back and forth between hardened states he was slowly losing his composure entirely, not caring who heard them. Whimpers and moans fell from his parted lips as Zexion pressed on, wrapping his cock in a hand and continuing his attentions from earlier.

“You’re going to have to keep quiet,” he warned not unkindly.

“I know,” Demyx whined out, eyes fluttering shut. “I just – ah! – can’t help it.”

_‘Just you wait,’_ the schemer thought promisingly. Beckoning his clone over, he watched as his duplicate mimicked his posture on the other side of the mattress. Pressing forward, they began laying delicate touches and kisses against Demyx’s body. A swirl of tongue here, a soft nibble of teeth there, and they inched their way lower and lower until their cheeks were brushing Demyx’s slickening cock.

“Please?” the blond begged, rocking his hips slightly. “Guys please, come on.”

“Please what?” Zexion pressed. He couldn’t help but to string the other along.

“Please suck me off!” Demyx exclaimed. “Please just touch me, suck me, whatever, I just can’t take it any longer, _please_.”

“Good boy,” the smaller praised, descending on his cockhead once more. This time his lips met his double’s and they slid across one another wetly. With a moan, they kissed around the cock they shared, tongues sliding between one another and the heated flesh. Demyx’s panting skyrocketed in volume, breathy little cries that had to be audible the room over.

Zexion decided to delight in the depravity of it all for a moment.

Sucking along the shaft, he met his double movement for movement, stroking and kissing lewdly. With one mouth at his head and the other along his base, Demyx could hardly take it any longer, his whimpers coalescing into loud and needy moans.

Not wanting to be interrupted, Zexion intervened, drawing a shadowy tentacle up to the blond’s lips, coaxing it into his parted mouth. The vestige toyed at his tongue, swelling between his lips as if becoming erect from his attentions. Demyx took the hint and began to suck earnestly at the intrusion, sending ripples of pleasure back to Zexion.

He didn’t want to string the blond along much longer. Drawing the sixth and final tentacle into play, he positioned it at his boyfriend’s entrance, letting it nudge and tease between his legs. It eased forward, narrowed at the tip and spreading the blond languorously as his cock was lathed over. Lips encased him as the illusion penetrated him, sending him just over the edge.

As he began to tremble out the beginning of his orgasm, Zexion pulled himself and his clone away. Using a hand to stroke quickly at Demyx’s base, he leaned over the head, closing his eyes and letting his lips part. As Demyx finished, warm cum splattered across his lover’s face, smudging across his glasses and dripping down his cheeks.

“ _Oh_ ,” the sitarist breathed, peeking through his lashes at the lewd display. Zexion was grinning and licking the mess clean, relishing in the perversity. “Sorr – damn, you’re… wow,” Demyx stumbled out. It was no secret that the both of them loved a good facial.

“Satisfied?” Zexion purred, the clone disappearing from his side along with the shadowy appendages.

“Yeah,” the blond smiled, reaching to pull his boyfriend up to his chest. Zexion smiled and obliged, worming up the bed to sit against the bedframe, Demyx slinging himself across his lap and pressing a kiss to his stomach. He sighed against the heated skin and quickly began to doze off. “Thank you for your heart,” he mumbled sleepily.

It was a turn of phrase between the two of them. The phenomenon of feeling like they were given something that they weren’t supposed to possess in the first place. It made Zexion flush inside.

“Thank you for yours,” he returned lovingly, wiping at his face and glasses with a tissue. His boyfriend hummed a happy little sound, followed by soft snores. Zexion laughed shortly, drawing his utensils and papers towards himself and resuming from where he had left off. Absently, he pet at the blond’s mullet, remembering their previous exchange. With a smile, he mumbled under his breath, “Was that entertaining enough for you?”


End file.
